Page 24 of The Hampton Beach Café 2
“Thank you so much, babes. I'm celebrating because I just hit one MILLION subscribers! Say Hi!”
Frances smiled and waved. One million eyes on her café? Okay, maybe she wouldn't completely murder him...just chastise him a bit.
The tourist buses came and went. Frances wondered if Alex had actually employed someone to strong-arm people in because many of them just knew that all their friends were coming here and weren't entirely sure what the deal was––or maybe that was the constant stream of social media stars and their live streams to blame for that.
The three o'clock lull had been a welcome relief. Alex staggered out of the kitchen, red-faced and sweating.
“I've never baked so much in my life,” he stammered. “You owe me, Lane.”
His use of her maiden name was bittersweet, it reminded her of her childhood and the years they spent growing up together, but it was also her father's name. The entry she had read this morning came back to her.
Day 2,586:maybe he's dead. Part of me hopes he is. I can't keep doing this. It's been a decade...why can't I let it go? Frances barely speaks to me. She seems like someone else entirely these days. Maybe all I have left for her is answers. I'm failing her even at that. What kind of mother have I been?
Ducking out the kitchen door into the garden, she tapped her mom's number into her phone––voice mail.
“Hey, mom, sorry to call during book club. I just wanted to let you know the first day has been a massive success...and I know we don't really do sentimental, mushy stuff, but...I love you. I'm sorry I haven't been better at staying in touch. I'd love to come down and visit again soon. Let me know when works for you.”
She clicked off her phone and let out a sigh. She hoped her mom would take it the way she meant it––genuinely.
They were closing from four until six to reset for the evening portion of the grand opening. According to one of the influencers who were chattier than the rest, she could expect five or six people tonight and then about a dozen people over the next week coming in just to see the gallery. She headed back inside to help with the clean up.And the prep for the next onslaught,she thought, pausing at the kitchen door.
“Stop being so negative,” she said aloud. “You've hit the jackpot here.”
With those words in mind, she stepped back into the kitchen to see Clarkson posing with a girl of about nineteen with an action sports cam strapped to her chest.
“Well, hi there!” she said with an abrupt perkiness that surprised her. “Whatcha’ doin’ in my kitchen?”
“This is Bailey Lee,” Clarkson said. “She is an up-and-coming pastry chef who is traveling the country for a year looking for the hottest dessert spots in America before she flies back to Paris to complete her qualifications.”
The business face was back on. “That's amazing, Bailey! Tell me what you think of our home-style baking here!”
“Homestyle is a good word for what you make here, but don't let the connotation fool you,” she said, slicing an impossibly thin sliver off a square of Dreams of Hazelberry Spread cake. “This takes an immense amount of skill to get right.”
She winked at the camera as she popped the slice into her mouth and squealed with delight.
“Well, we have a very talented baker here,” Frances said, gesturing at Alex, who glared at her.
“He's already refused to be on camera, such a tall, dark, and handsome mystery man,” Bailey cooed.
Alex flushed an even deeper shade of red, pulled open the double-wide fridge, and started fussing with the contents. Clarkson ushered Bailey out into the gallery to talk to Vincent.
“You know dozens of children die every day while playing in fridges,” she said. “You can come out now.”
“That is a myth. A lot of kids died in the fifties…” he said, peeking around the edge of the door to see if she was really gone, “…now it's quite rare.”
“Why do you know that?” she asked.
Alex shrugged, pulling cream and eggs out and placing them on the counter.
Vincent appeared at the door. “Hey, Frances? We might have a problem.”
Anxiety swirled in her stomach. “What?”
He held out his phone. “A buddy of mine sent me this. He works security down at the Casino. He thought she looked like my friend.”
Focusing her eyes on the phone, she saw that it was Lucinda pacing back and forth outside the doors, talking to herself.
“What? When did she leave?”
